Another Death in 2014---Maya Angelou
my own mother is close to three months gone; June enters into a time, a season farther away
Perhaps it was sudden, but a couple of good things about the death of this, in some ways larger than life personality, is to be considered very positive in my opinion. She was announced dead May 28, which was a Wednesday. I heard a teacher mention it at lunch at my daughter's middle school.
A few teachers asked, "Who?", and I answered that she was a poet and novelist, almost glibly attempting to summarize that she was the "poet laureate of the Oprah Nation". After saying so, I added "Did I say that?". But yes: let it stand. Since then I did a bit more reading about her, and she was so much more than a glib summary. I hope we all are.
1. She was 84. That is better than most, I think. I have thought this more times this year than perhaps any year since my mom passed away at age 73 (going on three months ago, as noted above), but I wish we could all live so long or longer! Good job, Maya. Let us all be octogenarians or better.
2. Her life was heralded far and wide; she was a pioneer of her own being and her other causes in so many ways. Well done, Maya. Oh, and she was quite a survivor. But we know that already, right?
3. Her life had a lot of meaning to many people, will be recorded by thousands, if not millions of sources, and she will never be forgotten. Her life in 84 years will be be very significant and meaningful for the rest of this existence. She did it, and much of it has been documented. Her artistry (poems, writings, performances, life interpretations), or her life's meaning, will largely be kept by so many.
Good job, Marguerite Annie Johnson; April 4, 1928 – May 28, 2014.
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So in my life, two people have died this year that have had differing impacts, for different people.
My mother, which is for me as for most people obviously, one of the biggest impacting people for their children as she was for me. And it involves a lot more personal reflection, usually, and personal time and efforts.
And then there is this huge publicly known person, Maya. I hope that they get together soon. I wonder what Maya would have to say to and about my mom. I think that they would talk about Africa and many other things.
The growing class of 2014.
I learned more about Maya Angelou while taking a communications class back in 1998, with an interesting professor named Doctor Calloway-Thomas. I suggested that Maya Angelou could be the spokesperson for our planet to another race or life, that she could embody the human voice for a foreign alien who knew little of humanity.
Professor Calloway-Thomas was impressed by my commentary and read it to her class.
Maya Angelou. Survivor and thriver. Well done.
And she has so many accolades given to her, as she may well deserve. Or rather, I consider that she does deserve immense credit for being a supreme artist of humanity.
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So since my mom has passed away this past winter, March 4th, (2014) it is good to write and remember about someone who is less acclaimed publicly, but very big to some.
Ruth Muriel Carpenter (now I picture her face and I see a thousand images passing the decades).
I am her only birth son; with two other daughters and a few other relatives, and a larger circle of friends, I wish to record a few more memories. But she has a larger posterity, especially in my opinion, because of her choices of faith and action.
She has a number of grandchildren that did not know her well enough; someday I hope that they can read this or other reports and records and know more about her.
I visited with her only brother, my uncle Bill, and his wife Ann, and one son and a couple grandchildren this past April, some 6 weeks after the funeral, for spring break with our children in Centreville, Massachusetts. This was a pleasant visit and reminded me more of my mom's origins. We visited the grave of my mom's parents who died in their eighties in the early 1980s; at a Congregationalist Church cemetery (modern name of the Puritans) in my mother's hometown of Hanover.
As I said before I was not able to visit other aunts or cousins as much as as I wanted, but the trip was good. Memories traveling across the Cape to Provincetown.
I was born (October 1970) when my family was living outside of Bloomington "out in the country" on Rockport Road. But most of my memories were of living at my "in town" Manor Road home, closer to the IU campus. As a child on occasion we would drive out in the country towards our old house and I would have weird feelings of memory or nostalgia. Crossing the railroad tracks or seeing the old water tower, passing slabs of old limestone quarries. My parents had become LDS (Mormon) before moving out there from living in different humble abodes in town, but they decided a town life was better for all of us. The friendships and associations of the church have remained strongly to this day.
An interesting club, this church. My mom figured a role in it, like other things she got involved with in her 73 years.
My mom was not too different than other moms, I suppose, but everything particular to one person is what makes them unique, special and different. My mother would actively visit her assigned sisters that she would visit teach.
I have fond recollections of being dragged along with her, to both church and other friends in and around Bloomington, some at rest homes, some at on-campus housing (like Pooh Westover, a friend who died at an early age of cancer), or other homes.
I also have many memories of going along to stores and garage or yard sales.
And then there were our numerous trips and vacations.
At home we watched our share of television and movies, but we did family things with books and stories and good food and get togethers. My mom surely spent her time on the phone with friends and family; we would travel to see her family often. As we aged this became less frequent, but they are a part of the imprimatur of my mother.
Visiting New England, or even talking to New Englanders, reminds me of my mom and brings back those good memories and feelings.
I remember seeing her plane take off at the Indianapolis Airport when I was about 4 towards Boston; maybe she would be gone 1 or two weeks. But I remember that farewell and the heavy empty feeling of seeing my mom go away. Now I see my own children deal with what we modernly call "separation anxiety" from their mother. I am glad it is me that goes away for periods of time, and not her.
Don't be separated from her. But it happens. All too often, children do get separated from their moms.
I was fortunate to have had access to her as much as I did, well into my adulthood. My wife and most of my kids got to know her as well.
My two oldest daughters helped make fudge with her this past Christmas. Even though she had been dealing with her tumors related to liver cancer, the subsequent ill affects of chemotherapy, she still had the energy and spirit to do that. We stayed in Bloomington about 5 nights over the winter holiday; our last Christmas with our mom. My mom. It was sweet. Late dark nights we would say our farewells in the family room at the end of their house, as I had done perhaps hundreds of times over the years since 1986, when they first had that home. As a teenager I would spend Thursdays and Sundays there. Eat a well cooked meal, talk with these adults who were closer to me as friends than those of my own age and station. I had three more full adult years of this pattern in the 1990s, plus the visits home from college or work. I was blessed to see and be with my mother all those years.
And as a married man (2001-2014), the pattern continued when we visited, despite some setbacks when my mother went into depressive funks, which she would suffer from on a regular but distanced basis. And they had their missionary forays, but we still managed to communicate and stay close across the oceans.
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My mom always had energy when I was child. She was a part of Weight Watchers; I remember going to some different churches while she attended these meetings; perhaps that might explain my interest and relative comfort in houses of worship other than my own.
I recall running across the dunes of the Cape with her while young and laughing hard, going on the whale site seeing tour from P-town (throwing up over the side but feeling much better afterwards), doing a hundred and one different things.
Dining, shopping, worshiping. Traveling, talking, laughing.
Reminiscing. May we all live forever. Do not forget the sweet memories of the past.
More later.
Blog on. EMC.
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